


it's still you (like it or not)

by 264feet



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Gallows Humor, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Second Person, Past Child Abuse, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/264feet/pseuds/264feet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a weird little lump of coal powering a creaky and nervous body. But somehow, lighting that coal to keep others warm has thawed your numbness a little.</p><p>alt title: 3024982034 times frisk screws up and like 1 or 2 times they don't</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's still you (like it or not)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asmilemingledwithwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmilemingledwithwrath/gifts).



> frisk w/ depression 2: electric boogaloo

 

You aren't sure how you've managed to fuck up this bad.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say that this all has been a string of fuck-ups, starting with you being born at all, that has culminated in the world's most astronomical fuck-up. You've killed them. You've killed _everyone_.

Whoops.

You can't even call it an accident. You knew what you were doing from the first time you picked up a knife to the last time you stabbed anyone with it. It's not like you believed in it— not really. It's like your body has been moving on autopilot, as if you had been walking a route you'd walked all your life. It startles you how naturally it came to you, murder. If you hadn't known better, you'd think you'd been walking t _hat_  route your whole life, even if it was more along the lines of killing everyone else's hopes in you.

And now here you are, finally faced with someone you can't kill because they've been dead the whole time. Chara. You feel like they're an old friend, if old friends wanted to murder you.

Everyone knows what you do to your friends now. This has been something of an art form, really. Mozart or someone would be appluding right now. And then you'd stab him too.

God. You can tell how much Chara _fucking_ hates you. You can tell they also know you're used to it, that you've been sitting on the back of the shit bus on the self-hating line since you were old enough to apologize for yourself. That only seems to make them angrier.

Seven billion humans, 1.9 billion children, 196 recognized countries on seven continents, 103 Nobel peace prize winners, and like 32 million friendly dogs and the Underground still managed to get you.

In a way, it's a miracle. You feel like humanity has been holding its breath for someone they could call the world's worst person— an antichrist or maybe a really crappy Republican. But now they must wait no longer. You're here! In the flesh! God knows you've tried offing yourself before, but you can't even do that right.

You tried ending one life and ended hundreds. They all had wanted to live. You hadn't. And you were the one who survived, although not for a lack of trying.

Chara is speaking right now and you can't even be bothered to listen to their words. You're just looking for something else to ruin. You try to imagine what they might be saying. Probably something like 'why'. You'd just give the same answer you gave Sans, which was a shitty kind of shrug, as if you'd been asked if you prefer cloth napkins or paper.

To which you'd reply: the only time someone consciously made me dinner was when Muffet tried to eat me.

Man. Sans would laugh at that one. If he was alive. You'd say, isn't that funny?

That's the funniest fucking thing you've ever heard.

—-

And here you are again, because it's not like you ever learned from your mistakes, so you aren't sure why you'd start now. You spend a while on your back, crushing the flowers Toriel had worked so hard to plant, looking up at from where you had jumped.

Nobody would come looking for you. There were only two times you remember someone coming to find you. The first was a foster parent so they could smack you across the head. The second was your foster sibling who wanted to tell you that he just took a crap and it made him think of you.

You're so used to your self-hatred and apathy at this point that you'd be lost without it. It guides you to your (ugly, misshapen) feet and walks (stumbles, trips, you cant even do that right) you down the hallway to where you know Flowey will be waiting.

You see his smile waver for a moment when he sees you. Something surges in your heart when you think he might remember somehow that you killed him. He remembered every other time you reset. But he just grins wider to compensate for showing real confusion.

"Howdy!"

Of course. The only one who remembers you is Chara, and they're desperately wishing they didn't.

You don't bother avoiding Flowey's 'friendliness pellets'. He's so excited that his scheme worked that he doesn't notice you haven't changed expression since you cracked your head on his sibling's grave. You really have started to notice the Asriel in him, whether in his excitability or how he begged you not to murder him.

This is the part where you're supposed to feel guilt. You don't. That scares you most. You’re so exhausted. 

Flowey's still laughing about how nobody could pass up an opportunity like this. You think of saying something stupid like "are you gonna kill me or what, I don't have all day", just to see what happens.

You really aren't any different from him. Well, except that Chara had loved Flowey once. There was that.

And of course Toriel saves you like you know she would and like you know you don't deserve. She speaks of 'miserable creatures' and 'innocent youths' and you aren't sure who's who.

—-

"Prove to me you're strong enough to survive!"

You've never been, not since you were born and your mother presumably let out a sigh of relief and turned Maury back on. You feel like you're a cosmic accident, like the planets all aligned and shone down a light on a public bathroom in which your mother was shooting up.  You're the virgin birth blah blah savior blah blah something.

Hell, it's not like you ever had a father.

You drop your toy knife and the wobbly blade separates from the plastic handle. She seems to take this as a sign of mercy and not a sign of sweaty palms. Her attacks continue nonetheless, although the flames don't burn quite as hot.

(like you deserve. not that she knows.)  

You embrace the burns. Saves you the trouble of doing it yourself. Of course you notice when her attacks start to miss you on purpose, and you're guessing it's probably because you've just been standing there like a fucking idiot since the battle started.

 _Don't run away. She only wants to scare you,_ Chara had said the first time.

The only thing that scares you is, when you're lying awake because you don't deserve even sleep, when your thoughts shine in place of the absent light and sound, you realize you could carry on like this forever. Too tired to make another attempt on your life. Too twisted to let anyone else kill you before they're dust in your nails and a bad memory in your eyes. 

This is your Tartarus and you're your own jailer.

"... My child?"

Close. She's moved in close. You feel heat. Heat like fire. It's just her body temperature (were all mothers this warm you wonder, it's a campfire but you're dry grass). When she smiles, she bares fangs.

Your burns crawl along your skin in warning and your skin shouts back in a language of past slaps and belt whips and everything you swore wouldn't happen to you once you were dead.

Unless they found you in hell, which had seemed like such a likely possibility until you got lost on the way there. And now here she was. Close. Threatening to encompass you in her arms. Comfort, safety, claustrophobia, strangling, punishment, bad child bad child there's no way to escape.

Your mind panics but your body reacts. Blood droplets are no stranger on your hands but they've only splashed on Toriel a few times. The first time you killed her, you had barely lifted a finger— your LOVE had just been that strong.

This time— her face is frozen in shock and you're shaking like a leaf and your mind puts the puzzle pieces together: the (chipped, jagged) fake blade dug into her side, your (cut open, plastic splinters) hands shaking like you were tossed out in a snowstorm.

And you can't stop smiling, baring your fangs in return.

 _"Can't you look happy for once in your fucking accident life?"_  rings through your head. You wonder how many times you were told that, to be a good decoration and hide the chips in your porcelain exterior.

(serendipity: noun, a happy accident. not you. ha ha!)

And so, as the only person who would ever love you sputters in confusion and pain, you've survived another battle. You didn't 'win', per se. The look of betrayal on her face is enough to kill you inside for another thousand years.

The feeling of her fingers running through your hair, the smell of pie warming your room (oh, and how your stomach actually growled), the way her words strung together when a little too excited to have someone listening to her snail facts—

And then, dust. Chills like frigid fingers trace up your spine, flicking every vertebrae. Laughter bubbles up your chest and spills from your mouth like vomit, choking laughs, chest-heaving shouts and gasps for breath. You're sure you learned somewhen that Sans and Toriel had exchanged jokes by the exit to the Ruins, but you're also sure that nobody's laughed this hard here in for-fucking-ever.

Oh, and you're the punchline. You just couldn't have a family, could you? You couldn't accept that someone could like you without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop? Of course not. Violence is your family, all those black and blue kisses goodnight on your body.

—-

Snowdrake tells you a bad joke. It coincides with a weird cough you make. He takes it as laughter and runs off grinning and saying something about his dad.

Ice Cap brags about his hat. You naturally rip it off his head. Shapeless, he seems to find some solace in who he really is.

Gyftrot growls at you. It's already been taunted and mocked. You seem to empathize with it. It looks in your eyes and seems to pity you, or at least decide its life isnt so bad in comparison. This is pretty much the only thing you're good for.

Over and over again, monsters seem to spare you with minimal effort on your part. You don't understand how it's so easy to be loved and why its so hard for you to accept it.

Part of your problem is that there's a voice in your head that hates the world, hates you, calls you an idiot every chance possible, and would love to see you burned at the stake.

Also in there, barely having anything left to say because of this, is Chara.

There's also a third voice sometimes that wonders if there's such a thing as happiness— a life beyond this. Nobody likes the third voice. You just await the day it tries to tell you vegan recipes or some shit.

You barely stop through Snowdin. You know the drill by now. You'll fight Papyrus. You'll kill Papyrus. Again and again, this is all you do, this is all you know. You try and make friends and just wait until you'll get bored and undo their happiness because you can't find any of your own. Or worse— you'll kill them and only then reset and they'll still look at you with those loving eyes.

(Maybe it's the dogs in Snowdin, but you can't stop imagining a master who only pretends to throw a stick and the dog goes bolting after it.)

And yet, despite it all, there's some kind of anger in you that grows a little time you start over. Why _did_  it have to be this way? Why _were_  you such a defeatist? Most of the time, you give up on a timeline before you’ve even started, afraid of what you’ll do in this one. Anger boils your blood and thaws your frostbitten fingers. You lift your feet a little higher with each step.

You're furious. At yourself, at the world, you have no idea. You don't care. It feels like times like these are the only times the numb wears off.

"HUMAN."

Oh boy, here you go. You grit your teeth so no stupid words fly out. You're going to ride this anger out as far as it will take you. Maybe you’ll do one thing right in your life.

"ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT SOME COMPLEX EMOTIONS."

Blah blah spaghetti blah blah capture- you've heard this before. At least he isn't calling you a dusty freak this time. You practically piroutte over his bone attacks when the battle starts. The first one that hits you knocks the wind out of you and topples you over in the snow.

Idiot, you call yourself. You deserved to get hit by that. A comatose worm could have dodged that.

... You pick yourself up again.

The fight stretches on. Papyrus is talking to himself, which is normal to you, because you spend most of your time talking to (or yelling at) yourself also.

Then, a voice interrupts. _The next one's coming from behind. Duck,_  Chara tells you. You promptly fall on your face like you were born with your feet taped together. As expected, a bone flies through where your head had been and vanishes into dust.

You’re not sure what prompted Chara to speak to you again. It’s not like you’ve done anything but worsen their opinion on humanity. You wonder if they just want to escape you.

(or-- if they shared your SOUL, did they share your pain?) 

"I GUESS... IT'S CLEAR YOU CAN'T DEFEAT ME..." Papyrus says, gasping for breath.

Your body is tired, you suppose. Your joints feel snapped and your legs shake like newborn foals and your eyes focus and unfocus like a radio trying to find a frequency.

You've had worse.

"THEREFORE I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, ELECT TO GRANT YOU PITY! I WILL SPARE YOU, HUMAN! NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO ACCEPT MY MERCY!"

It hits you: you've made it through an entire battle without hurting him. Without hurting anybody.

You've tricked him, you tell yourself. You're just waiting to stab him in the back— or side, as with Toriel. You're unforgivable. You deserve to burn in hell.

Yeah, yeah, you reply, and I don't deserve to be alive. You've heard it all. You're tired of it. You take the last thing you could feasibly call a weapon- a stick- and snap it over your knee. You toss both halves in opposite directions into the snow.

Something odd is washing over you. Happiness? Determination? You don't know. You've never had a genuine friend before. You've read all about them and feasibly studied every step on how to make them, but always fell short at "don't repel everyone with a cold silent demeanor and then beat yourself up for 10 years afterward."

Today will be different.

His smile broadens. You hold out your arms. He takes a cautionary step up to you, then runs a meter a step until he's upon you and squeezing you in a bear hug that makes your own bones rattle.

You shove your hand straight through his chest. His battle body, his ribs, his SOUL all snap under your miserable fingers.  

"HUMAN—"

("my brother really wants to see a human," Sans had said once, "so if you could keep pretending to be one, that would be great.")

"I'm sorry," you're saying. "I'm sorry this is all I can do. I'm sorry this is all I'm good for. I'm sorry I hate myself. I'm sorry I keep messing up. I'm sorry I don't know why I'm still going."

For a moment, you only hear the wind. You feel once-solid bone fading to dust fast. And then, despite this, he's still speaking: "TO BE QUITE HONEST, I DON'T KNOW WHAT ALL THIS IS ABOUT... I DON'T THINK THIS IS PART OF THE NORMAL FRIEND-MAKING PROCESS. BUT!"

His weight on you increases. Looking over his shoulder, you see he's absent two legs and something white that isn't snow has been caught by the wind.

"I BELIEVE IN YOU!" he says. God, you can't stand to hear this again. Bring back the bones. Bring back the attacking. You can't stand to hear him fucking _forgive_ you. "YOU KNOW, EVEN THE GREAT PAPYRUS MESSES UP SOMETIMES! LIKE... SOMETIMES I COOK TOO GENTLY, AND A FIRE DOESN'T START! OR SOMETIMES I ONLY CALIBRATE 24 PUZZLES INSTEAD OF 25!

"BUT I KEEP GOING! NOT FOR MYSELF, BUT FOR THEM!" He takes a dramatic pause. In this time, discs of his spine are dropping like coins into a sewer. "BY THAT, I MEAN THE PEOPLE WHO WILL NEVER BE MY FRIEND IF I GIVE UP! HOW CAN I ROB THEM OF MY COOL ACQUAINTANCESHIP? IT SIMPLY ISN'T FAIR!"

Before you know it, he's nothing but a skull. It's so familiar— but so different. He had once believed in you for you. Now he spoke about believing in oneself for... others?

As if anyone would care if you died. You told yourself that your whole life. You told yourself that to give yourself the courage to jump and try to kill yourself. Your presence, too, did nothing but harm to everyone you met; how could you live to help someone else?

Unless you could die to help someone else--

"I'LL CONTINUE ON!" the skull says. "MY BROTHER WILL BE SO SURPRISED I’M... FINALLY SHORTER THAN HE IS!”

You have to admit that you’ve never thought much about anyone else’s emotions. It’s hard for you to imagine children who have hobbies besides curling up and crying. 

But you’re sure that Papyrus’s voice is straining, his words a little _too_ happy. 

“I'LL STAY... _A HEAD_ OF THE GAME! AND YOU WILL, TOO! NYEH HEH—"

The skull turns, too, into dust. You swear you hear one last 'heh' on the wind.

—-

And you start again.  

You stare up at the sky for a little longer this time. To think that such a fall wouldn't kill you still shocks you to this day. Your— what, 10th, 50th, 100th run through of this little time loop, and each time you see a different pattern in the clouds.

You dodge the friendliness pellets. You listen to all of Toriel's snail facts. You accept her hug this time even if your body screams to flee. You leave the Ruins even if you still aren't convinced she isn't going to run out those doors and beat you after all.

Chara is silent in your head through Sans's jokes, Papyrus's puzzles, and finally the battle with the tall skeleton again. They tense up when he spares you, when you snap the stick on your knee and hold out your arms and take him into a hug. And when you could easily kill him again (that's all you're good for, that's all you know how to do)—

You don't.

You go to Grillby's with Sans. You wipe your nose on your sleeve and he calls you gross in the middle of a giant burp. You stroll through Waterfall and feel like your mind is as clear as the water for once. You forget an umbrella for yourself only because you took it back to cover the statue being rained upon. You walk with Monster Kid nonetheless. You dodge Undyne's spears rather than let them hit you like so many runs in the past.

 _What are you doing?_  Chara asks you, right before where you know you'll confront Undyne once and for all. _I_ know _you. You're just doing this because you're bored. As soon as they arent fun for you anymore, you'll kill them._

You pretend not to hear, which is difficult because they're kind of in your mind. Maybe you are like they say. You don't know. But it's not like you believed in killing everyone that much either. Might as well do this.

 _You’re human. You always will be._ They mean it as an insult, but you take it as a compliment. You’ve always thought you were less than that. 

You block Undyne's attacks. You snap the spear on your knee and run (okay, fast-walk) away. You help Monster Kid up from the ledge. You pour a cup of water on Undyne's face. You, for once in your life, go back after her and seek her out in her house the way Papyrus had wanted.

You never did before, either because you killed him or because you killed her.

Of course, since you were born under the unique sun sign 'the idiot', it's only like 20 minutes before her house is up in flames. Undyne's friendship scares you as much as it comforts you. She's all shouts and all punches and all fangs bared when she smiled.

"YEAH! That was awesome!" she says.

"I screwed up," you mutter back. "I'm a screwup."

She pulls you in close and noogies your head. You're sure, in your time watching other kids idly on the playground, that this violence is a sign of friendship. "SURE! But this screwup is my new BESTIE, remember?"

You're not sure what to say to that.

You continue through Hotland. You solve Mettaton's quiz and every subsequent activity. You listen to Alphys's stuttering on the phone line. You call Toriel also and don't get a response but smile because you know she's still alive.

And you get scared, you hear voices that aren't any you recognize and you think it's monsters you slayed demanding justice; you feel your heart skip a beat when Undyne gives you a friendly punch or Alphys taps your shoulder. You think they can tell you aren't a 'normal' child-- that's what the reasonable voice says. Your own voice tells you they hate you and would love you dead.

The slightest provocation and you react like a wild animal with your pupils dilated and adrenaline cranked. But wild animals don't take blades to their own wrists, they don't crave to see their own blood, some kind of justice.

Just before you do it, the phone rings.

"heya. is this a bad time?"

You exhale like you'd been punched in the stomach.

"well, i could always call back... but i'm _be-heinz_  schedule on this lunch break. so i guess i'll make it quick," Sans says. You hear a bottle squeezing.  "man. my bro is still talking about your, uh, 'date'. it made him really happy. you know... this might come as a surprise to you, but he wasn't always so... himself."

You're surprised you're listening at all. Your skin is itching all over. It fits over you like a bad suit; the real you is a sick little lump of coal that powers the shitshow you call 'your body'.

"he gets lots of funny ideas in his ol' noggin sometimes, and i'm not talking about knock-knock jokes." You swear it's impossible, but you feel a chill emanate from the receiver. "almost like someone's been telling him things he shouldn't know."

You focus on the words. They take shape in your mind. You see red. Blood-- or ketchup, you don't know. You're lowering the knife.

"... but what i'm saying here is that i've never seen him get knocked down and stay down. he stays very, y'know, enthusiastic. he knows the name of everyone in snowdin. even the royal guard loves him." Sans is quiet for a moment. "although maybe that's because he's bones and they're dogs.

"speaking of guard, did you know he got me to get a job? man, now that's persistence. but lemme get to the point. what i'm saying is that even though there are some people who might not view him as cool and great as he really is. and even though he--" Sans burps in the middle of his speech. "'scuse me. even though he isn't a royal guard yet, he keeps himself going because other people need him to keep going. even if someone thinks you're a few fries short of a meal or you don't have it all together, sometimes you can just be good enough. hey! i would know. i do just enough work that they can't quite fire me."

You're twitchy, but you're okay. The knife is gone. Chara seems disappointed. You ignore them.

"whoops, i've been going on too long. hey, grillby says my tab's over-extended. could you foot the bill?"

You begin to open your mouth to speak. Sans cuts you off: "thanks. you're a real good pal. thanks for being good to my big bro, too. it's not like i'd expect any less from you."

Click.

You can't see Sans's expression, of course. You wonder if the light died in his eyes with his last line. You're not sure. Maybe it would have in a past timeline. But this is here and this is now.

You're a weird little lump of coal powering a creaky and nervous body. But somehow, lighting that coal to keep others warm has thawed your numbness a little.

You're angry. You're scared. You're a fuckup. You're a mistake. You're all those things.

But. Despite everything, it's still you.

For once, you can say truly that you're filled with determination.

—-

You aren't sure how you've managed to fuck up this bad.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say that this all has been a string of fuck-ups, starting with you believing in yourself at all, that has culminated in the world's most astronomical fuck-up. You've saved them. You've saved _everyone._

Whoops.

The lost souls remember you dropping a bottle of ketchup and dipping your fries in the spill on the floor; they remember you admitting you also thought a 'date' was a weird fruit that grandmas liked; they remember you falling asleep while listening to snail facts and finding it cute; they remember you panicking and saying your favorite anime was King of the Hill and thinking 'oppai' meant 'hope'; they remember knocking you unconscious when you said someone 'hits like a girl' and they went "OH YEAH?" and you woke up with a bump on the head and a few laughs.

Asgore, a good third wheel, just kind of remembers things when Toriel does. This is fine by you, because the only thing you had up your sleeve was a divorce court joke.

And now here you are, faced with someone you can't save because they also thought themself not worth saving. Just like you reached into the darkness and said "hey dumbass" to save yourself, you reach into the darkness for Asriel. Without the 'dumbass' part.

He looks at you as if you know what you're doing. You never have. You're afraid to admit to the lost souls that this is kind of all on a stupid hunch— that you've dragged yourself to happiness kicking and screaming. Here's what you do know: Asriel killed you. Asriel killed you over and over. Asriel did what you couldn't— what Sans couldn't, even. Death brushed its lips against your split soul. You were so tired.

But you refused.

"I'm... so sorry," Asriel says.

His fur is as soft and warm as Toriel's when you hug him. Your hand twitches in memory of the time- okay, one of the times- you killed her. Intrusive thoughts plague your mind; you think about how easy it would be to shove your hand (with your jagged little fingernails, the scars and the callouses) through his chest and rip out his heart. You've killed so many people even as they showed you love and mercy and held you. You're terrified of yourself. You're terrified you'll have come this far to fuck everything up again.

You reach your hand out a little. You bring it to his vulnerable back, only protected by a thin little shirt and a layer of soft flesh.

You pat it gently, twice. Whoops. Looked like you fucked up killing him and accidentally comforted him instead.

You smile. Man, you're bad at this.

(You can't help but chuckle a little bit, too. This is what two murderers look like.)

"I have to go now," he says, once the barrier has been broken. "Without the power of everyone's SOULs, I can't keep maintaining this form."

You shake your head. He looks hurt when you pull back from the embrace, but that changes to shock when you offer him your SOUL.

"Frisk— no, I couldn't—"

"Please," you say. You try your hardest not to whine. You're used to it, sure, but that doesn't change the fact that your bones ache and your muscles are tattered.

"I've messed up. I messed everything up."

"Me too."

"Frisk—"

But you refused. You've had a taste of what it is to be loved, whether you deserve it or not. You suppose that's all you ever wanted. Now you want to give back.

You hold Asriel again. Something resonates within you both. You aren't sure what it is. You were more focused on spooky stuff (and potato chips— when was the last time your skinny ass ate?) in the True Lab rather than the specifics of SOUL logic.

"You idiot..." he says with a sniffle. But you feel against your shoulder him grinning ear to ear.

 _"Stop!"_  you hear. _"Who said this SOUL was yours to give away?! Did you forget our agreement? Did you forget what you've done? Did you—"_

The voice goes quiet when you merge. It's kind of funny. The broken shards of you three seem to form one complete child.

The last thing everyone saw had been a flower. The first thing everyone saw was Asriel with his hands reaching up to dry his tears— whether by his own will or someone else's within him, only you saw.

You settle into a dreamlike state as Chara panics. The first time you've seen them express anything but hate in a million timelines— and yet they focus their attention on comforting Asriel when everyone discovers he's been reborn. Despite yourself, you grin.

You really _can't_  do anything right.


End file.
